


Second Chances

by Ailelie



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Baseball, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 09:45:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2808017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ailelie/pseuds/Ailelie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tyler Seguin helps coach t-ball with Jamie Benn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Second Chances

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aurum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aurum/gifts).



> Not sure if this is what you had in mind, but I hope you enjoy anyway! Happy Yule!

Another helium balloon tied to the fence popped in the summer heat. Tyler shielded his eyes with one hand and watched Emily square her stance at the plate. The pitching machine released the first of its slow pitches. She spun back, twisting her hips like they’d taught her, and swung her bat through the ball. The bat twirled in the air as she released it and she started sprinting toward first base.

 

“Come on, Em,” Tyler called, encouraging her. He saw Andrew hit third base and continue running. The ball fell wide of the right fielder just as Emily ran over first base.

 

“Keep going,” Tyler said.

 

“Go, Emily!” her father cheered as Emily rounded back toward the base and headed off to second. Andrew hit home and Emily was safe to second by the time the other team got the ball to a base.

 

Tyler grinned as he watched his kids all high-five Andrew on his run. One of the softball kids marked the run on the scoreboard--they were one run or two outs from ending the game.

 

Colby was next to bat. Jamie walked up to the plate with him, carrying the tee for him to use, but Colby waved him off, pointing at the pitching machine the kids who were stronger at batting were allowed to use.

 

Tyler watched the quiet battle at the plate, but then Jamie stepped back, holding up three fingers. Colby could have three chances with the machine, but then he had to hit off the tee. Colby nodded. He squared up, drawing lines out from his feet with the tip of his bat, and then hoisted the bat. He raised his index fingers and then tightened his grip.

 

The pitching machine released its first pitch--Colby swung too late to catch it.

 

“You can do it, Colbs,” Tyler cheered.

 

On the second pitch, Colby skimmed over the top of the ball, knocking it down and not hitting it far enough to count.

 

“Shake it off,” Tyler called. Colby meticulously went through each step of perfecting his stance. The machine released the ball. Colby twisted back and swung--

 

The ball arced through the air.

 

“Run!” Tyler yelled. “Run, Colby. Emily, get to third. Go! Come on!”

 

The parents were all standing and cheering as Colby, stunned, dropped his bat and started to run. The ball landed with a heavy thud behind second base. A player grabbed the ball and threw it to third to stop Emily, but the ball sailed to the left of the third base’s glove.

 

Emily hit third and Colby reached first. Tyler gave Colby a high five. “Great job, Bud. You were awesome.”

 

Colby grinned, gap-toothed at him, and Tyler wondered how he had ever thought coaching T-ball was going to suck.

 

The spring had started with a crash.

 

Late snows had left the roads a little sloppier than Tyler liked and especially sloppier than he could manage several drinks into the night. A patch of black ice sent his car swerving and, instead of turning into the swerve and regaining control, he’d panicked and sent the car spinning into a front yard and knocking down a mail box.

 

This after he’d been informed, via email no less, that, unless he basically aced a couple summer classes, his program was going to cut his scholarship.

 

A stellar week, all around.

 

In the aftermath, Tyler had been given a choice--wait for the police to haul his underaged drunk ass away (and thereby lose his scholarship for sure) or work part-time for a local youth baseball league.

 

“I need some help with the youth baseball league I run. Prepping fields and cleaning up the park, mostly. But we always need some coaches and assistant coaches, too, if you clear the background check. Help me out this summer and stay sober, and today doesn’t have to go any further than right here. Interested?”

 

Tyler hadn’t hesitated.

 

The man had then driven Tyler home in his car and gotten Tyler’s basic contact information while waiting for a cab.

 

“Now, don’t waste this second chance, you hear?”

 

“I won’t.”

 

In the summer, youth baseball seized Tyler’s adopted city. Businesses sponsored teams and gave away discounts or held raffle drawings whenever their teams did well. Kids in plain t-shirts and stained white pants filled up all of the fast food and pizza joints near the diamonds. Even people without kids knew which teams were doing well and which needed work.

 

In the fall it would be football, and, in the winter, basketball. But, from spring’s late chill to summer’s last stand, _baseball_ was king.

 

For the first two years of his program, Tyler had managed to avoid the sport. He preferred frisbee and golf during the summer months--games that relied more on socialization and having fun than keeping score.

 

But now, he’d been caught.

 

Tyler stood in the equipment shed, checking the inventory against his clipboard. It was early in the afternoon and too early for his required check, but Tyler had learned after his rough first week, that a couple checks during the day made his life much easier and required a lot fewer inevitably during dinner calls trying to track missing items down.

 

Pevs, a guy he actually knew from school and, weirdly, one of the new fastpitch coaches, had helpfully underlined ‘bats’ on all of his inventory sheets. Tyler had made the mistake of calling them ‘sticks’ his first day and everyone had yet to let it go.

 

He checked off the bats and moved to check the bags of helmets. That’s when he heard a sniffle and smothered sob. Tyler stopped moving and listened. There was a small cough and another choked off sob coming from behind the tees. He snuck over to the tees and knelt down.

 

A kid in a green t-ball shirt was pressed back against the wall with his knees hugged to his chest. The tees were arranged around him like a fence.

 

“Hey,” Tyler said, softly. “You all right?”

 

“Yeah,” the kid lied.

 

Tyler frowned. “Mind if I come inside your fence with you?”

 

“It’s a fort,” the kid said.

 

“Can I come in?”

 

The kid shrugged, so Tyler moved two of the tees aside, slipped in next to the kid, and put the tees back. “Playing hide-and-go-seek?”

 

The kid shook his head and hugged his legs tighter to him.

 

“What’s wrong?” Tyler asked.

 

“I messed up,” the kid said. “I always mess up.”

 

“What did you do?” Tyler asked.

 

“I hafta _focus_ ,” he said. “Dad says I hafta _stay focused_.”

 

Tyler flashed back to standing in his advisor’s office and learning he could lose everything he’d worked for if he didn’t get his head on straight. “What happened?”

 

“ _Emily_ can already use the machine and I _tried_ , but I got my swing wrong and I _keep missing_. And my dad--”

 

“I’m sure your dad is a very smart man,” Tyler interrupted, “but who do you listen to for baseball stuff?”

 

The kid was quiet. “Mr. Jamie?”

 

Tyler prayed ‘Mr. Jamie’ wasn’t the same kind of douchebag the kid’s dad seemed to be. “And what did Mr. Jamie say?”

 

“That we’d practice,” the kid said quietly. “That I’d get better.”

 

“Sounds like a good plan to me,” Tyler said, thinking of his own resolutions to ‘get better.’

 

“Will you help?”

 

“I don’t know,” Tyler said, dragging the word out with a smile. “I don’t know a lot about baseball.”

 

The kid finally looked up at him then, his eyes wide and earnest. “I’ll teach you,” the kid promised. “Or Mr. Jamie can. He’s really good.”

 

“I bet he is. Think you’re ready to head out? I bet Mr. Jamie and your dad are worried about you.”

 

Mentioning the kid’s dad was a mistake because the kid immediately turtled right back up. Tyler sighed. “I’ll look for your coach, okay? And let him know you’re safe.” He knocked the ground twice and moved the tees again to exit the kid’s fort.

 

He hadn’t walked far from the equipment shed when he found a man about his own age in a shirt the same shade of green as the kid’s. “Hey,” Tyler called, “Are you Jamie?” The guy turned. His hair was slicked back under his baseball cap and his face pinched with worry. “I think I found someone of yours.” Jamie’s eyes widened and his face loosened with relief.

 

He hurried over to Tyler. “You know where Colby is?”

 

“Colby a kid with a dick for a dad?”

 

Jamie’s expression darkened. “Yes. Where is he?”

 

“The shed,” Tyler said, gesturing behind him. “He’s made a fort out of the tees.”

 

Jamie sighed. “I should have guessed. Thanks.” He jogged over to the shed.

 

Tyler thought about his aborted inventory and shrugged, deciding to get a drink from the concessions and give Jamie some time with Colby. When he returned to the equipment shed, they were gone.

 

Tyler saw Jamie again the next week, early in the morning. Tyler had stopped by the fields early before his class that day to wet down the diamonds and draw chalk lines on the fields the little kids used. The fastpitch and little league coaches took care of their own, but one of the commissioners had explained to Tyler that they had less trouble recruiting t-ball and pinto league coaches when the league took care of the set-up and close-down.

 

Tyler looked up from where he had just finished drawing the line from third base to home to see Jamie leaning against the fence in one of the dugouts.

 

“Hey,” Tyler said. “Jamie, right?”

 

Jamie nodded. “You’re Tyler?”

 

“Yeah.” Tyler switched off the line marker and clapped his hands on his shorts to get rid of the chalk he’d gotten on them while filling the liner. “If you’re looking for Colby, I haven’t seen him.”

 

Jamie smiled and shook his head. “No. Practice doesn’t start for another hour. I heard, though, that you might help him out with his swing.”

 

Tyler laughed. “I think I told him I know nothing about baseball.” He pulled the liner to the dugout. As he passed Jamie, he said, “I’ve got two more fields to mark up before my morning class, if you want to talk.”

 

Jamie followed him to the next field and walked with Tyler as he drew the baselines around the diamond.

 

“Thing is, though,” Jamie said. “I need an assistant coach. Normally Jordie--that’s my brother--and I work together, but one of the parent coaches dropped out without warning, so he’s taken over that team.”

 

“And you want _me_ to help you instead?” Tyler stopped at third base and, shielding his eyes, looked at Jamie. “You do remember when I said I know nothing, right?”

 

Jamie shrugged. “I know baseball, but we have twelve kids on the team and parents try to help, but--”

 

“Some of them are bigger babies than their kids?” Tyler guessed. He’d been surprised and sometimes a bit in awe of how invested the parents got in their kids’ games.

 

“Yeah. I already talked to Ruff. He said you’re clear, if you want to. And I’ll help with the morning stuff, too.”

 

Tyler thought he should say ‘no,’ but something about Jamie’s small smile pulled out a “sure” instead.

 

Jamie’s smile transformed into a wide, bright grin. “Great.” He pulled out a folded up sheet from his back pocket. “That’s our schedule and my phone number is at the top. We should meet ahead of time.”

 

“Sounds good,” Tyler said. He kicked the liner and started pulling it toward home. He could still see the negative of Jamie’s grin against his eyelids.

 

When he reached home and switched off the liner, Jamie’s hand closed over the handle, just below Tyler’s hand. “You said you have class, right? I’ll take care of the last field so you can go.”

 

Tyler blinked. “Really?”

 

“Yeah. I used to do it all the time.”

 

Tyler let go of the liner and let Jamie pull it off the field. “Thanks. I’ll call you after my class.”

 

“Okay,” Jamie said. “Thanks again, by the way.”

 

Tyler shrugged. “It’s nothing,” he said. “Talk to you later.” He watched Jamie pull the liner to the third field before turning and heading off to his car.

 

Before he drove away, Tyler flattened the sheet Jamie had given him against his steering wheel. The schedule wasn’t as intense as he’d expected. The kids met two or three times during the week to practice and then had a game each Saturday.

 

Written in large, clear numbers across the top of the page was Jamie’s phone number. Tyler added the number to his phone.

 

He was going to coach a t-ball team. This was going to be a disaster.

 

After his class, Tyler sent a text to Jamie. They texted back and forth throughout the week. Jamie sent him links to sites with good explanations of baseball and training videos for kids. Tyler practiced with them on and off between classes and his work at the youth baseball league.

 

On Saturday, Tyler did his early morning set-up and then headed back to his apartment to work on an assignment for class. Instead of reading, however, he grabbed his Swiffer to use as a bat. He practiced getting into a good swinging stance, checking a mirror to make sure it looked right. He _thought_ he had it, but it wasn’t easy being sure in either his wide bathroom mirror or the skinny full-length one on his closet door.

 

Tyler checked the time and gave up on the videos; it was time for the afternoon inventory check.

 

When he reached the concessions, he found Jamie behind the counter on the south side. “You do concessions, too?” Tyler asked.

 

“Yeah. Some parents didn’t show, so I’m filling in. You?”

 

Tyler held up his clipboard. “Inventory. I just want to do a quick check to make sure we aren’t running out of anything.”

 

“I think we’re good,” Jamie said, “but come on in.”

 

Tyler rolled his eyes. “Thanks.” Tyler shuffled through the concessions stand, dodging the parents and kids working and taking a quick count of the cups, hot dogs, candy, popcorn, and everything else in the stand. His check normally only took about 5 to 10 minutes, but this time he chatted with Jamie, lingering near his side of the stand.

 

“So, how did you get involved in coaching?” Tyler asked.

 

Jamie leaned against the edge of the window he was working and shrugged. “I grew up in the league. My brother and I were umpires in high school. Coaches seemed like the next thing.”

 

Their conversation was interrupted when a young girl popped by the window. “Hey,” she said, “They’ve got 30 today at the Gold vs. Red game and they’re in the bottom of the last inning.”

 

“We’ll get set up,” Jamie said. “Thanks.” The girl left and Jamie pulled down a sleeve of small cups. “Want to help set out the gatorade for the kids?”

 

“Sure.” Tyler got the gatorade while Jamie counted out the 30 cups. Tyler handed him the blue and they started filling the cups up from opposite ends, meeting in the middle two rows. “It’s cool that you guys do this.”

 

“Hydration is important,” Jamie said, capping his bottle. “When I was a kid, we got soda.”

 

The conversation flowed easily between them and soon Tyler realized that the sun was starting to set.

 

“Shit,” Tyler said. “I never got to the other stand or sheds.”

 

Jamie flushed. “Sorry. I can help if--”

 

“Nah,” Tyler interrupted. “It’s an extra check anyway. Just makes the evening one quicker and easier. Do you need anymore help over here?”

 

“Are you sure?” Jamie asked.

 

Tyler hipchecked him and leaned on his elbows in the concessions window. “Seriously. It’s cool. Tell me more about this coaching thing you’ve roped me into.”

**~~~**

Tyler’s first practice with the team was the next Tuesday. He met Jamie at the field a few minutes before the kids were supposed to start arriving. Jamie tossed him a baseball as Tyler walked over to the dugouts.

 

“We’re going to start with passing drills,” Jamie said. “Then I’ll hit some balls for them to practice catching. We’ll do hitting Thursday. Sound good?”

 

Tyler threw the ball in an underhand back to Jamie. “You’re the boss.”

 

The first kid to arrive was a girl with large, blonde pigtails. One of her bottom teeth was missing and freckles covered her nose and cheeks. “You’re new,” the girl said, running over to Tyler.

 

Tyler smiled and knelt down. “I am. My name is Tyler. I’m going to be helping Jamie coach you. What’s your name?”

 

“Emily Elizabeth Watson,” the girl recited. Then she ran over to Jamie to ask if it was true. Tyler stood and introduced himself to the young man who had brought Emily to practice.

 

As he was doing that, more children arrived. He noticed Colby being dropped off by a harried-looking young woman who left as soon as Colby reached the diamond. Colby slunk over to the dugout, his expressions brightening as soon as Tyler caught his eye.

 

“You came!” Colby ran over to Tyler. “Are you going to help? Did Mr. Jamie teach you?”

 

Tyler laughed. “Yeah, he’s working on it. And I will, but we’re doing passing and catching today, okay?”

 

“Okay. I’m a real good passer.”

 

“I bet you are.”

 

When it was time to start practice, Jamie called the kids together and introduced Tyler to them. Then he explained the first drill they would be doing. The kids paired up and passed a ball back and forth between them. Whenever Jamie called ‘switch,’ whoever was holding the ball ran and found a different partner.

 

Tyler wasn’t sure how he could help the kids get better, but he did offer encouragement and guided anyone who got distracted back to the activity. He noticed that Colby was actually fairly good at the activity. He rarely missed the ball and always threw toward his partner.

 

Next Jamie had the kids throwing balls in from the outfield, going from base-to-base, and then back to the outfield. The activity was chaotic with a lot of dropped balls, but the kids were laughing and engaged.

 

Jamie laughed with the kids. He didn’t single anyone out, but instead often paused the practice to demonstrate a common error and had the kids all practice the correct way. He led well. Honestly, Tyler was jealous of the kids.

 

After practice, Colby was the last kid on the field. A phone rang in his gear bag. Colby answered, a frown growing across his lips and weighing down his entire frame. He held out the phone to Jamie. “My dad wants to talk to you.”

 

Tyler watched Jamie’s expression get just scary. “I understand,” Jamie said a few times before handing the phone back to Colby.

 

“He isn’t coming, Jamie said. “The nanny quit and the new one can only work mornings. His dad will be here a bit after five, but I can’t stay here that long today.”

 

“I have a friend coaching fastpitch. His team is starting practice soon. I can take Colby to watch that until his dad gets here.”

 

“Are you sure?” Jamie asked.

 

Tyler shrugged. “It’s no problem.”

 

Jamie pulled Tyler into a quick hug--“Thanks.”--and then turned to explain the plan to Colby.

 

Colby slipped his bat bag over his shoulder, said “okay,” and followed Tyler over to the larger fields where Pevs was starting up practice with his team.

 

Tyler waved at Pevs and slipped onto one of the metal benches near home plate. “Watch them hit the ball,” he told Colby, “And tell me what they’re doing.”

 

Colby leaned forward and watched intently, relaying what he saw to Tyler. Around 5, his phone rang again. “My dad’s here. I need to go to the parking lot.”

 

“I’ll walk you.”

 

On Thursday, the story was the same. Jamie was free, so he and Tyler took Colby to an empty field and practiced swinging. Tyler was worse off than Colby and Colby fell over in a fit of giggles as Tyler over-exaggerated following Jamie’s directions.

 

But, when Jamie left the pitcher’s mound and forcibly moved Tyler’s feet into the right spot and then pushed down on Tyler’s hips to get him to bend his knees, Colby watched carefully and mimicked Tyler’s position. For his part, Tyler tried not to focus on how it felt having Jamie’s hands on him.

 

Jamie didn’t wrap his arms around Tyler to demonstrate how to hold the bat, but he did close his hands over Tyler’s and shift them into the right places. His hands were warm and calloused. Tyler bit his lip and tried to pay attention.

 

Then Jamie stepped back and showed them how to swing the bat, pausing to show how his hips shifted and how his back foot moved up to the toe and twisted. The three of them practiced their swings in slow-motion, gradually speeding up.

 

Jamie got out a tee and had Colby practice. Tyler joined Jamie in the infield to catch balls. After Colby’s dad arrived and they’d walked him down to the parking lot, Jamie tossed one of the baseballs to Tyler and asked if he wanted to try hitting a ball as well.

 

Tyler thought of the work he needed to get done and said “sure.” They wandered back to the field they’d been using. Tyler squared up at home while Jamie jogged out to the pitcher’s mound.

 

Jamie pitched the ball underhanded. The ball tumbled slowly in a wide arc. Tyler tracked the ball, but swung a second too late or too high. The ball hit the ground. The next time Tyler tried, Jamie ran up to home.

 

“You’re dropping your elbow too soon.” This time Jamie moved behind Tyler and guided him through the swing. “You need to keep your hands moving with your shoulder.” He pressed one hand on Tyler’s shoulder and cupped his elbow. They moved through the swing a couple times slowly.

 

“I think I’ve got it,” Tyler said, stepping away from Jamie and turning toward him.

 

“Right,” Jamie said. His face was flushed. “I’ll go pitch, then.”

 

Tyler paid attention to his back elbow and kept track of the ball. This time he connected. The ball didn’t go far, but it did move forward.

 

“Nice job,” Jamie said, running up for the ball. “This time, don’t stop when you hit the ball. Keep swinging through.”

 

They kept practicing until Tyler was hitting the majority of the balls tossed his way. Jamie promised they’d do real pitches next time.

 

On Saturday, Tyler met Colby’s dad for the first time. The man sat like a storm cloud in his own lawn chair and took frequent phone calls. He was standing on the phone when Colby first went to bat. When Jamie didn’t remove the tee, Colby’s father turned away and didn’t watch. Tyler made sure to give Colby a tight hug after the game, but ultimately watched along with Jamie in mute frustration as Colby trailed after his father to the car. They didn’t even take the time to get the free gatorade.

 

“I think I hate him,” Tyler said to Jamie after the kids were gone and another pair of teams had taken over the field.

 

Jamie snorted. “Me too.”

 

Each week followed the same pattern. Tyler hit up the fields early each day, often meeting with Jamie then to wet down the infields, draw the chalk lines, and prep the equipment bags. If it wasn’t a Monday or Wednesday--Tyler’s class days--they’d get brunch together, ostensibly to discuss their team. After their practices one or both of them would hang out with Colby and then walk him down to the parking lot whenever his dad arrived to get him. Then, on Saturday, they’d grab lunch or a snack together after their game.

 

The more time Tyler spent with Jamie, the more he dreaded the summer ending.

 

Late in the summer during their last week of practice, Colby decided to try the machine again. Half the kids manned the bases while the other half lined up to hit the ball. Colby’s form looked good to Tyler, but he missed the ball each time.

 

“You gotta squash the bug,” Emily said. Tyler knew she was trying to be helpful--Emily was one of their strongest players and she was always trying to help everyone else--but this set Colby off. He threw down his bat and stomped over to the visitor’s dug-out. Jamie and Tyler traded a glance. Tyler jogged over to the empty dugout and joined Colby on the bench.

 

“Hey, Colbs.”

 

“I can’t do it,” Colby said, on the edge of tears. “I keep messing up.”

 

“Messing up is okay,” Tyler said, nudging Colby’s side. “Did you know I’m only here because I messed up?”

 

“No.”

 

“Yeah,” Tyler said. “I was upset and I made a big mistake. To fix my mistake, I had to come work here.”

 

“So you _hafta_ to be here?” Colby asked.

 

Tyler panicked; that wasn’t what he’d wanted to imply. “I have to work here, but I don’t have to coach. And, if I hadn’t made my mistake, I would have never coached or met you and your teammates or Mr. Jamie. And that would be bad.”

 

Colby wiped his eyes, streaking dirt across his cheeks. “I just want to do it right.”

 

“I know. Look, why don’t you go get your glove and join the infield. Then we can practice with the machine more after practice. Okay?”

 

“Okay,” Colby said.

 

“Good. Come on, Colbs. Let’s go around the outside.”

 

After practice, Jamie kept the machine out and they worked with Colby on hitting off the machine. Jamie noticed that Colby froze each time the ball started flying toward him. Tyler suggested making a ritual of it. They ran through some of the major motions of getting ready to hit the ball. During the next several attempts, Colby managed to hit the ball twice.

 

“Great job!” Tyler cheered, giving him a high five.

 

Colby grinned. Then his phone rang. They walked him down to the parking lot. Colby ran over to his dad’s car and Tyler and Jamie trekked back to the fields. Jamie covered Tyler’s work that day so Tyler could head home and study for his final exams that Wednesday.

 

Tyler learned early Friday that he had passed his classes and rode that high into Saturday. Before the game, Tyler helped some of the parents tie green balloons around their half of the field and yellow ones around the other half. He also double-checked the shed to ensure each t-ball game had enough participation trophies set aside.

 

The kids were excited to get started. Though several of the kids still got distracted while playing, most kept their attention on the ball.

 

When Colby decided in the fourth and last inning that he wanted to try the machine pitch, Tyler’s breath caught. He glanced over at Colby’s father to see if the man was even paying attention.

 

When Colby actually _hit_ the ball and started running, Tyler wanted to scoop him up in a tight, twirling hug. He was _so proud_ of him.

 

After the game, Jamie and the the Gold team’s coach passed out the trophies to all of the kids, congratulating them on their hard work and the game played.

 

Colby ran over to his father, holding out his trophy. “Did you see?” he asked.

 

Tyler was close enough that he heard Colby’s father say, “Sure did. Good job.” Colby beamed and followed his father down to the parking lot. Tyler turned away and went back to Jamie and their team.

 

That evening, Jamie helps him tidy up the equipment shed and conduct the inventory. They lingered over each task, stretching the evening out.

 

“Don’t know what I’m going to do with all my free time,” Tyler said. “No classes, no coaching. It’s going to be weird.” Jamie didn’t say anything. Tyler set down his clipboard and walked in front of Jamie, slipping between him and a high stack of bases. “Going to be weird not seeing you all the time, too.”

 

Jamie flushed. “Come over,” he said. “I’ll grill steaks.”

 

Tyler grinned. “Just you and me?”

 

Jamie’s neck and cheeks pinkened. “Yeah. That weird?”

 

“No,” Tyler said. “That’s a date.” Relief broke out across Jamie’s face and Tyler pulled him in for a hug.

 

A great summer job, an awesome t-ball team, and a promising date with a guy he already considered one of his best friends--a stellar summer all around.


End file.
